when no others could draw close, because he was kin. That was why the Shadows feared the mages; that was why the Shadows had insisted the mages join with them or die. The mages could infiltrate their bases, tap their communications. Like could fight like. So he would be admitted, and the Trojan horse would invade the stronghold of the enemy.
It fell on him like a brilliant, black light, streaming down over him, probing, searching for access. Galen relinquished his exercise. The black light poured in through his eyes. It spilled down over the back of his head and prickled against the stippled discoloration along his shoulders and spine, flowing inward. It tingled against the sensors in his fingertips, reached in along the threads of tech, up his fingers, up his arms. At the same time that it invaded him, he felt its blackness bathing his ship, slipping into the silvery body of his chrysalis, coiling around its threads, considering.
As it twined up along the lines of his tech, the tech, in turn, began to warm, to quicken. Galen wanted to suppress the energy with an exercise, but he could not or he would be detected. Adrenaline raced through his system, setting his heart pounding.
Then, as it circulated through him, the black light began to speak. It carried words, whispers, just like the Shadow communications. They infected him.
Chaos is the proper state of being, the state in which all impulse is freed to act. Chaos is the way to strength. Chaos is the engine powering life. Chaos finds its fullest expression in times of war. In war all are put to the test. In war those unfit are exterminated. Only in bloodshed can true progress be made, can promise be realized. In war we are victorious, and through war true perfection will be realized.
The Eye's whispers elicited